


No More Making Up Fake Stories

by toomuchcoffee



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, One Shot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchcoffee/pseuds/toomuchcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's a man gonna do when biker punks are keeping his ma from sleeping?</p><p>Or, the oft-mentioned but never fully explained story of how Kanji Tatsumi became a legend in Inaba. A oneshot of Kanji beating down bikers, set a few months before the events of Persona 4 begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Making Up Fake Stories

“What the _hell_ are you punks doing?!”

It was around 10 P.M. when the door of Tatsumi Textiles was ripped open as the only child of the shop’s owner stepped out, a furious glare in his steel gray eyes as his boots crushed the concrete beneath him. Hands balled into fists, he stared at the group in the street in front of the textile store - a worthless gang of bikers, roaring their worthless engines on their worthless motorcycles. A bunch of teenage thugs thinking they were hot shit just because they could compensate their failiures as people by harassing a harmless shopping district. The boy cracked his knuckles, never taking his eyes off the group of poorly-dressed fools.

After the initial moment of surprise interrupting their conversations, the group suddenly burst into laughter, very audible even over the loud idling engines of the motorcycles. The boy widened his eyes and he took a small step back in shock, but he remembered - _intimidating!_ Eyesbrow arched again and he stepped forward, looking even more pissed off at this point. “What’s so funny, huh?!”, he yelled.

One of the pricks - a guy in a ballcap at the front of the formation, he must be the leader - yells back in response. “You think you’re scary, you ugly little shit?” Slicked back bleached hair, a leather jacket, piercings on his ears and nose - this kid was clearly _trying_ to look scary, at any rate. Another one of the bikers, camera in hand, activated the thing, zooming in on and recording the leader. “What are you, fourteen? Still in middle school?” The camera switched focus from the leader, swinging to the outside of Tatsumi Textiles and focusing on the boy… just in time for the boy to lose his composure again, letting out a grunt.

“I-I’ll be in high school in a few months!” His voice wavered defensively, clearly not expecting the bikers to not be scared. _Who do they think they are!_ , he thought. “B-but that’s not the point, dammit! Get the hell out of here! Some of us are tryin’ to sleep!”

The leader leaned forward over the handlebars of his bike, grinning at the boy. “Or what?”

He huffed, cracking his knuckles again and hunching forward. “Or I’ll beat the shit out of you until an ambulance is _makin’_ you leave.” And the gang erupted into another burst of laughter.

Words could barely be made out from the mass of motorcycles as the punks all talked over one another. “You really think you’re scary, huh?” “I’m shakin’ in my boots, kid!” “Funniest shit I’ve heard all day!” The boy did his best not to falter this time, eye twitching in rage.

The thug with the camera recorded the ballcapped leader as he steped off his bike, walking up directly in front of the boy and giving off that smug-ass grin. “You really think you can take us all on?”

No, he didn’t. These jerkoffs didn’t look too tough on their own, but dammit, there was a dozen of ‘em. He had started it, and there was no backing down now - only a coward was going to run away at this point, and if there’s one thing he wasn’t, it was a coward. He stepped forward, right up into the leader’s face - he was probably a few years younger, but still a good head taller than him. “Yes.” It was quiet, but practically dripping with fury.

The leader’s grin didn’t drop. “You’re really, really stupid, kid. What’s your name?”

He replied, barely-contained rage in his flat tone. “Kanji. Kanji Tatsumi.”

The leader blinked, looking a little surprised. “ _The_ Kanji Tatsumi?” He stepped back a little to get a better look and gestured to the store Kanji had stepped out of. “What, this is your ma’s shop here, then?”

Kanji let out a grunt of frustration, losing patience and yelling in reply. “Yeah, it is! The hell is it to you?!”

Another smirk from the leader. “So you’re the kid who’s always helping his ma out with…” He looked back to the swell of bikers. “What was it, boys? Knitting, I think it was?” The gang let out a mass of affirmative replies, confirming the leader’s suspicions as Kanji’s patience grew thinner and thinner. He turned back to Kanji, with that same disgusting grin that Kanji just wanted to beat the hell out of. “You knit much, Kanji?”

Kanji blinked, rolling his shoulders. “A little, maybe. What’s it matter to you?”

"We were just wondering, really. Me and the boys here have seen you buyin’ kniting shit from stores around town but you looked…” He glanced up at Kanji’s dyed hair. “Different, then.”

He stomped, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I-I like my hair like this! What, a guy can’t mix it up every now and then? A-Always gotta look the same, then? You’re not even showing _your_ hair, jackass!”

Ballcap chuckled, looking down. “Of course not. Dress how you want.” He shrugged. Kanji _knew_ he was falling for his bait, but dammit, he didn’t care. He knew Ma would be pissed if he started a fight right outside the shop, but if that was the only way to get these pricks to leave…

“Just sayin’, Kanji.” He looked back up, meeting the blonde kid’s eyes. “Sewing’s a little… I dunno, what am I thinking of? Just doesn’t seem like the most…” He paused and twirled his index finger, thinking of a suitable word. “ _Manly_ thing to-”

And at that point, Kanji’s mean right hook tore into the jackass’ face. Before Ballcap even knew what happened, he was lying supine on the street, grabbing his bleeding nose. Kanji huffed in anger, looking down at the punk before wiping the blood on his knuckles off on his cheek and cracking them one more time. Muscular arms hung at his sides, shoulders wide and broad as he rose his head to glare at the gang. After another moment, he spoke. “Who else wants some?”

It took a moment before anyone else reacted, seemingly in shock at how quickly their leader was taken down. The one closest to Kanji was the quickest to react, practically hopping off his bike as he rushed forward, arms forming into a faux-fighting stance as he met Kanji. The biker was the first to attack, throwing out a left jab - sloppy, easy to see coming. _Yeah, these punks have no clue what they’re doing._ Kanji raised his right arm and stepped back, blocking the first punch, then raised his left when a second was thrown. His right hand grabbed onto one of the thug’s arms and pulled him forward - right into prime position for a rough, painful punch to the right temple, courtesy of Kanji’s massive left fist. The biker fell to the ground, smacking his head on the pavement. Two down.

Three more victims stepped forward - and hesitated, quietly bickering over who to lead first. Kanji stared, an angry bull huffing as he answered for them and rushed forward, another vicious right hook tearing into the head of the biker in the middle of the three-man group. The other two seperated with a yelp, surrounding Kanji on both sides. It took them a moment to regain their composure and enter a fighting stance - more bikers were starting to funnel off their machines and join the fight. _Okay, this is bad._

The two on each side of Kanji charged forward, aiming to throw a punch with a loud cry. Kanji thought quickly - he grabbed the one to his left, shoving him into the other. Both tumbled to the ground and Kanji took a second to breathe, stepping back away from the remaining bikers. _Okay, this is really bad._ More of the bikers were joining the brawl - they kept their distance from Kanji, but both parties knew they could easily overpower him through sheer numbers. The two on the ground pulled themselves up, joining the group that was beginning to surround Kanji.

Kanji weighed his options, color in his face starting to sink as he realized he was in deep, deep shit. He could try to run, but they had bikes - they’d be able to catch him. He couldn’t go back inside the house. There weren’t any cops around, so that wasn’t an option. How many more could he take down before they got the upper hand? Kanji kept stepping back as the gang slowly moved forward, beging to surround him his back slowly got closer to the wall. _Guess this is the end_. He raised his arms, prepared to block and bite and tear and scratch until they left him a crumpled heap on the outside of the store. He kept stepping back until he hit that planter that Ma kept outside the store. Glancing around and around - surely there was something that could help him here, right?

And that’s when he spotted it.

Laying against the planter was a folding chair - black and shining. _Was Ma doing gardening and needed somewhere to sit or something?_ Whatever the reason, the thing looked mean as hell, and it looked like it would be Kanji’s savior right about now. The bikers kept closing in…

One of them finally rushed forward, leaping into the air as he delivered a pale imitation of a punch he had probably seen on some pro wrestling show. In a flash, Kanji reached for the chair, bringing it forward and sideways in front of his head in a block. The biker howled in pain as his fist collided with unforgiving steel, and Kanji wasted no time in bringing the chair back before winding up and smacking the fool across the head, knocking him to the ground. The gangsters stopped in their tracks, gasping and looking at Kanji and his new weapon.

Kanji rolled his neck as he panted, holding the chair in one hand by his side. _Yeah, this is a nice chair._ He smacked the asphalt with his steel savior, grinning as he eyed the fear in their eyes. “Come get some!”

After another moment of hesitation, one accepted Kanji’s invite. He rushed forward, blatantly telegraphing a wild punch. Kanji ducked and stepped right past him - and suddenly found himself face to face with more of the bikers, the fastest one nailing Kanji square in the jaw. He stumbled back, seeing stars that weren’t there a moment ago. He felt hands on his shoulders - he was turned around and the punk he had dodged a moment ago nailed him in the face with another punch. Kanji grabbed his jaw and grunted, stumbling backward for the briefest of moments before falling flat on his ass. The bikers laughed at the sorry spectacle. “Not so tough even with a weapon, huh? Compensating for something, Tatsumi?”

Kanji forced himself to his feet, roaring in anger and swinging the chair wildly before the bikers had even known what him them. Rammed in the gut, one fell over, and another one quickly joined him on the ground as he was creamed upside the head. The remainders surrounded Kanji, rushing to the slaughter - flurries of punches that Kanji would block and dodge before countering with a chair shot that had the force of a lighting strike behind it, sending the dwindling numbers to the ground. He was a thunder god - he was Take-Mikazuchi, and his chair was his Totsuka-no-Tsurugi.

One got lucky. Kanji turned around to be greeted with a kick to the gut, crumbling over as that sword fell to the ground with an awful clambering noise. The biker took a second to snicker - and it was all the time Kanji needed to rise back up, a vicious uppercut splitting the jaw of the bastard.

Kanji took a moment to breathe, looking at the remainder of the bikers. One on each side of him - and that annoying prick with the camera looking at him dead on. Kanji glared at the camera, death in his eyes, when the other two charged him at the same time.

The one to Kanji’s right - with the pompadour - was the first to go down, the thunder god delivering his hardest right hook of the night, smashing into his left cheek. The other one had sunglasses and a medical mask on - and a hammer fist breaking his face apart as Kanji took him down second. And without stopping, his hand reached forward, grabbing that stupid camera right out of last-standing jerk’s hands and throwing it onto the asphalt with all his might. That camera was the most expensive thing the punk owned, but as Kanji grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground, that was the least of his worries.

“Tell any more friends you have to leave me and Ma alone, got it? This place is my turf.”

The kid just nodded frantically, letting out terrified whimpers before landing hard on the ground when Kanji dropped him. He was back on his feet - and running like hell out of the shopping district - before Kanji had even taken in what happened. Idiot left his motorcycle.

Kanji looked to the dozen still-running engines populating the street right in front of the store. He was still pissed, dammit.

The bike nearest to him was the first to tumble over when Kanji kicked over the kickstand - _hey, that’s why they’re called that!_ And like a set of oversized, annoying dominoes, the rest soon followed until it was nothing but a large pile of metal covering up the street.

It was only then Kanji had noticed the group of ten or so onlookers that had formed and watched the whole thing. Just gawking at the scene, like vultures. He yelled at them. "This ain't a free show! Get bent!" The group fearfully scattered, muttering to themselves.

He turned on his heel and headed back into his home.

Ma was gonna be pissed.

**Author's Note:**

> The last three bikers Kanji takes out in the story is lifted directly from Kanji's little sequence in the original PS2 intro of Persona 4 (https://youtu.be/h73LvR8V2LA?t=62) - I'm under the assumption said sequence was supposed to be a tidbit of him taking the gang down, since the act is oft-referenced but never outright seen.


End file.
